


Something Worthy

by Auraspirit157



Series: _The Anarchy of It [4]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auraspirit157/pseuds/Auraspirit157
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When The Fox is worth The Rat, no one will stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Worthy

Daytime seems like such a strange, unnecessary part of the day.

At least to the hackers who watch the sun glean slow and monotonous below the edge of the steel buildings. Most of their business hailed the night and so day left unattended. At least in Defalt’s case.

“Do you ever leave?” Aiden asks him idly, lazily, as he drinks. Defalt has an impressive stash of alcohol. It isn’t antique like he had seen with Damien, all strange and foreign concoctions spiced and dazzling with contemporary flavors. Aiden isn’t fond of any of them, though he had settled with one put in his hand. It is bitter. Defalt had said it was reminiscent of Aiden’s personality.

The younger man lies back, upside down on the couch. As much as Aiden has seen him recently it has never been in a normal position. He is always curled up, at a strange angle and perspective, also willing to drink excessively at the early hours of the morning somehow.

“I think I do. I have concerts you know,” He answers to the ceiling.

“No, I don’t.”

“Have you seen the fan art?”

“…You have fan art?”

“Yes, it’s fascinating,” he says blatantly, showing no tone of fascination as he lifts up, taking a sip from a blue cup on the table, “And adorable. Sometimes sparklingly disturbing. Fans are almost more dangerous than the police, they are just, if even more, curious on what hides behind your mask.”

“Then I’m glad not to be a popular man.”

“Oh, no, Fox,” Defalt chuckles, “You have it too,” he pulls up a laptop, leaning against Aiden’s side and typing rapidly. He gestures to images that appear, “Mostly forums. People wonder where you hide and who you really are, _why_ you left. They are heartbroken, really.”

Aiden reads over the man’s shoulder at the fanatically, sometimes drastically misspelled arguments with a scoff, “They are wasting their time.”

“You are an intriguing subject, Fox. Everything intriguing has fans despite how little you enjoy it.”

“I’m not _that_ interesting,” Aiden grumbles as he spots a comment that claims with exuberant detail and numerous evidences that he is indeed a spy for the government, “These people just have nothing better to do.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I’m talking about people with normal mental stability.”

Defalt scoffs himself, looking at him, “We’ve been through this song and dance haven’t we? Everyone is insane.” He shifts upon hearing the door knock, “…I also wasn’t expecting anyone today.”

Aiden moves up, “So, people wanting to kill you? At least they have been polite.”

“I’ll answer it,” Defalt rolls over the couch, stretching and gliding toward the door as the knock sounds again.

Aiden catches his arm, “You got shot the last time you answered the door.”

“But I have you here,” The younger man smirks, speaking theatrically, “And you make me _invincible!”_

Aiden rolls his eyes, moving into the shadows, “Actually, answer. Let’s hope they have a grenade launcher.”

“Aw, will you, I dare say, catch it for me?”

“Answer the fucking door before a shoot you myself.”

“Don’t be like that,” He brushes hair out of his face, opening the door once Aiden is fully out of sight.

Aiden watches, seeing his face completely change, the expression curling from surprise to some ugly scowl he has only seen a couple times, for times he saw something that truly disgusted him.

“Well, that’s not a good sign,” A stranger’s voice sung in the hall, “I guess I didn’t expect a happy face.”

Defalt curls his fingers around the door again, speaking sharply, “What did I say?”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious on how I found you? On what I have to say?” The stranger steps into the room, Aiden could see his hair was blonde, swished in some ridiculous style that only reminded him of someone he’d find at Defalt’s club. He was about the same age as well, with green eyes, short, but a bit taller than Defalt. His face is sharp, angled harshly in bone structure, but his smile was rather disturbingly pleasant. Aiden opened his phone near his side, the stranger’s profile fizzled without any information.

“The only thing I want is for you to go away,” Defalt’s voice is dead, angry.

“I thought you would be more curious, I mean, there couldn’t possibly be something that distracted you. You’re… _never_ distracted,” He laughs shortly, it is willowed, containing the same off-kilter chime to is as Defalt himself.

Defalt stays where he is as the stranger draws close, looking ready to kill him, maliciously.

There is some odd, rather irritating wonderment the older man has for this encounter. Most of the time men in such a close proximity to someone he theoretically cared for made him pounce without delay. Now, he watches, waiting for the results.

This seems to not be what Defalt wants as he glares at the stranger, eyes twitching to where Aiden hides, “Why are you here?”

The stranger grins, “Why do you _think?”_

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking of right now,” Defalt’s voice is deadly, vehement.

Nothing about it effects the man, “Please, you can’t just…leave, disappear like you did. I spent forever trying to find you.”

“I’m on every top music chart in the country, it isn’t that hard.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t _care_ what you meant. What you want is none of my concern, now get out of here.” Defalt turns away, stepping back to the coffee table and sucking down the rest of his drink, waiting for the frozen figure behind him to step away.

The stranger moves forward instead, “You have someone here.”

Defalt glances up, “Do you see anyone else here?”

He points to Aiden’s cup still sitting on the table, “I’m not…stupid, Jay—“

Defalt instantly throws the glass, the stranger quickly dodging the object, it shattering at the wall close to Aiden, the smell of spiced alcohol fuming from the shards. Defalt stands, half turned, his hands curled into twitching fists.

Aiden, who slipped into the bedroom, takes the moment to walk out, casually, as if just waking up. The stranger’s eyes immediately dart to him, then they widen considerably.

Aiden’s voice is soft, turning to Defalt, “I thought you said the other day I would be the only one breaking things.”

The stranger steps back, but doesn’t look away, “…You’re the one that’s distracted him.”

Aiden glances over at him, barely, without real interest, “Who is this?”

“Nothing,” Defalt says with the same tone, “Nothing at all.”

Aiden moves closer to the stranger, watching him steadily, his voice hinting, “Then will we have a problem?”

The stranger takes a large step back, his gaze shifting to a glare, his entire persona seeming to change at an instant, “Yes, we are, unfortunately.” Just as quickly as he appeared, the stranger vanishes out the door.

Two beat of silence.

Defalt darts to the bedroom, emerging with a coat, the hood pulled over him and headphones around his neck. He tosses Aiden’s keys to him, “Drive me.”

Aiden catches the set, “So, are you going to tell me what the fuck that was about?”

“When we are away from here.”

“He’s gone now.”

“No he’s not,” Defalt snatches his phone from the table, heading to the door, glaring toward the older man, “You should know that they never leave.”

There is something dreadfully different about his tone. It is serious.

Aiden moves ahead of him, “Have you got a place in mind?”

\--888—

“Left.”

Other than directions, Defalt has not said a word, spending the drive glaring out the window, his hands twitching, muttering obscenities barely audible to the older man.

It is beyond unorthodox for him to see Defalt so disabled by a single stranger. It wasn’t fear, just anger, pure anger.

“There,” He points out the window to a shadowed doorway of a jazz club, speaking again before Aiden could ask, “It’s public, it’s dark and couple talk serious shit in restaurants don’t they?” He gets out right when he parks.

Aiden follows, silent as they go through the door. The interior is thinly lit by neon blue streams of light against the finishing. The brightest spot was the stage, where a saxophonist plays softly to some smooth tune that is unfamiliar to him. It _felt_ anonymous there, intimate in a way.

“Peter! I haven’t seen you in quite a while.”

Aiden glances over, seeing Defalt speaking to the hostess at the podium.

“I’ve been busy,” He answers politely, apologetically, “I hope my table is still open.”

The hostess smiles warmly, “Always for you, dear.” She looks toward Aiden, “Who is this?”

“A friend,” Aiden answers naturally.

The woman looks between the two with only moderate curiosity before lifting small menus from the podium, smiling again, “Follow me.”

Aiden moves to Defalt’s side as they snake through the small club, eyes scanning the surroundings, people, exits, everything.

When they settle in a small corner table Aiden speaks softly, “Peter?”

“Well I thought I was being creative, Joe Smith.” He speaks bitterly, “Honestly the people in this city—“

“Are you going to explain or just avoid it?” Aiden asks, speaking slowly, “Who was that man?”

Defalt leans back, lifting his legs up onto the booth they sit in, his eyes distant, as if remembering something particularly distasteful, “…His name is Atlas. As far as I know.”

“As far as you know?”

“He is a…fan of mine. I met him around the time I met Clara. I didn’t think much of him, we didn’t speak at all until I was rejected by the Daves,” The mentioning of the memory makes him physically cringe, the words venomous, “He managed to follow me, somehow cornered me at one of my concerts. He said I was all he thought about, that he wanted to help me every step of the way.”

“Did he actually do that?” Aiden asks, trying to predict the scenario before Defalt reveals it. Despite how he speaks, the stranger, Atlas seemed just how he described, very different than the people Aiden himself has encountered.

“He did,” Defalt continues, “He is decent at what he does. Not to our caliber, but not a…complete…idiot. I was humoring him, letting him inch his way in, I didn’t mind it till he started getting serious, asking me about my childhood, my likes and dislikes, he wanted to do _everything_ for me, he wanted to know _everything_ about me.”

“Sounds like he really liked you,” Aiden says, “I don’t see the problem here.”

“Of course you don’t.” Defalt laughs, “You didn’t experience it.”

“I didn’t think you’d be the one that would hate having your own personal slave,” Aiden says, “And someone you could summon whenever you are bored.”

Defalt is silent, then leans forward, “Fox. The fucker was nothing but boring,” he lets out a frustrated breath as he falls back, “there is nothing _fun_ about a man that will do anything for you. He didn’t get that. I like the fighter. The _pull_ of someone, the desire, the _lust._ He had no pull, he didn’t make me want to go back to him. And now he’s figured that out, with you here.”

Aiden slowly began to realize who he was trying to describe, what, suddenly he has been pulled into, a fire burning in his eyes, _“Defalt—“_

“See, now you get it!” Defalt laughs again, somewhat sarcastically, “You get it now.”

“I never wanted to get mixed up in your fucked up love life!” Aiden hisses low, quiet enough not to be heard by anyone else.

“Aw, well I didn’t expect him to come back,” Defalt shrugs, “The last time we were within touching distance I had fixers handle him. Besides, you’ve defended gallantly before.”

“I didn’t think it was attacks from your damn jealous fan of a boyfriend!”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Defalt growls back, genuinely offended, “you are being completely unreasonable.”

“Unreason—you think I’m going to deal with the mess that _you_ made?”

“Well you are pretty good at cleaning up messes.”

“Defalt,” Aiden moves closer, speaking soft but dangerously, “I’m not going to kill a kid for loving you.”

“And why _not,”_ Defalt whispers, just as calm as usual, but the tinge in his voice is taunting, “You’ve killed _hundreds,_ most of them with families, lovers, sisters and brothers, all for your own little desires. You came to me because it was an outlet, you wanted a distraction and you got it and, holy fuck, looks like we took this way too far. You are involved.”

Aiden shoves away from the table. He knew now why Defalt took them someplace public. He knew he would be angry, “I’m not involved in anything.” He turns, walking straight out of the club.

\--888—

Defalt knew he would be angry.

Part of him, well, all of him wanted it to be less walk-out angry. Regardless he is not too surprised by the unsavory reaction. Aiden is many things, but a common understanding of love is not part of his list of talents, a least the more important kind.

He leaves the club around an hour after Aiden’s departure, having spent that time thinking of people he can call. Atlas is a nuisance that has to be eliminated.

He goes across town, the aspect of going back to his main apartment completely out of the question. The second home, however, is hardly lived in, he could tell by its pristine condition upon entering it. It is smaller than his other apartment, more modest and less abundant in technology. A couple old newspapers sit at the front dresser, months old.

Defalt lifts one up, ironically the article spoke of the car crash at Pawnee. He remembers Aiden talking in his sleep, he listened every once in a while, the nightmares he has seeming endless…

The paper is tossed on the floor as he walks deeper in the living room. There is a pricy-looking piano to the side that he vaguely remembers buying on a whim. He didn’t play much, the keyboard was easier for his purposes. The piano’s elegance almost never fit in with his musical patterns. Despite this he sits on the bench, crossing his legs and presses keys experimentally. Minutes later his focus severs, compromising to the song he doesn’t really remember the name of. The lyrics are fuzzy and meaningless, but he hums as if he remembers them.

Vaguely… _very_ vaguely he thinks of the last time he did this. His mind commonly goes far too fast to even bother processing past events. Aiden is one of the first to break the pattern of forgetfulness. He wonders if the man played an instrument, he wonders if he sings or whistles.

He wonders if he had parents he loved. What was he like as a child without a phone and a vendetta?

A missed note makes him snap out of his revere. Rubbing his eyes he realizes he was questioning Aiden’s private life, the life he holds so dear to him, locked away behind closed doors. The inquisitiveness bothered him. They were such normal questions that someone would ask. What do your parents do? Where do you work? Tell me about yourself.

Why did he want to know those things? Right…no, he has been through this before. That morning when he tried to kill him.

“Why did you stop?”

Defalt turns his gaze from the keys, seeing Atlas just behind him with a far too familiar questioning gaze. His eyes are green. Like Aiden’s.

No, not like Aiden’s. Aiden’s are different, there is a desperate fire in those eyes.

“I forgot the notes,” Defalt says blankly, turning back to the keys. Moments later he feels the man sit next to him on the bench.

“You don’t miss notes.”

“Nobody is perfect.”

“Except you.”

Defalt slowly looks at Atlas with narrowed eyes, dismissively smacking the keys of piano, “I never invited you in.”

“I didn’t expect an invitation…so I let myself in.” The way Atlas spoke begged for a compliment, in Defalt’s opinion anyway. He always sounds like that, he wants to be noticed.

“Then you can let yourself out.” He speaks.

“You’re so harsh,” Atlas whines.

“Oh no,” Defalt laughs, moving off the bench, “You have no idea how gracious I’m being. I could have done so much more. I could have _ruined you.”_

“But you didn’t!” Atlas stands as well, “You didn’t do that.”

“Because it wasn’t worth it. I thought you were smart enough to disappear,” He moves closer, his voice thin, poisonous, “I won’t make the same mistake.”

He doesn’t wait for Atlas to speak again, he didn’t need to hear his voice anymore. The bullet slides straight through his shoulder. The scream he makes is beyond satisfying.

He follows the man, saunters as he skitters back against the wall, gripping his bleeding shoulder. It reminds him of himself, a couple weeks ago. He has Aiden, however. Atlas has no one, he will be no one.

Blood paints the wall Atlas leans on, gasping, looking up at Defalt as he rests his pistol against his forehead. He calls out, desperately, “At least let me call off my men.”

“Your men?” Defalt blinks, his trigger finger stilted, “You have fixers here?”

“No, no I’m alone,” He takes a breath, his false green eyes follow Defalt as he crouches, the gun still trained on him, “I sent them after the man that was at your apartment.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

Defalt openly laughs, loud and short, “You’ll need a lot more than that.”

“Oh, yeah, I know,” Atlas’ voice was suddenly very casual, his hand dropping from his shoulder, “Hold still.”

The hacker takes a half a second too long to decipher the phrase, Atlas pouncing from the wall, something sharp and thin piercing his neck. Vaguely he feels himself collapse on the floor, his vision blurred; the rhythm of the air is stilted and slow.

Atlas plops on the floor next to him, grinning stupidly. Defalt can faintly see a blood spotted, empty syringe in his hand.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t give you that much…you’ll be fine in a couple hours.”

“…Fucker…” It is all Defalt can think of saying. The rest of his mind going a hundred miles an hour or crawling to dysfunctional degrees.

“Listen, I know this isn’t a really good start but I think it will get a lot better,” Atlas continues, the insult not even registering, “I’m sure after this you’ll take me seriously.”

There is white hot, unbearable anger that Defalt could not unleash, whatever drug given to him is sapping all his energy. He feels Atlas patting around his pockets, taking his phone from him.

“Now I know that scary man with the hat distracted you, a lot, but I found out the Blume was after him! I can’t _believe_ you were talking to the Vigilante, he’s not even your type!”

“I’m going to rip your throat out,” Defalt growls, but his voice is failing him, “And feed it to the rats.”

Atlas tilts his head, it reminds Defalt of an owl…or maybe a confused prairie dog, but his voice is completely different, dark and crawling, “You’re so creative, Jay.”

And then there was nothing.

\--888—

When Aiden wakes his head is pounding.

It is steady, like the kind of pain after Digital Trips. As his vision returns his mind is rewinding to past events. He had left Defalt, he didn’t want to be part of his love triangle. He had walked for a while, alone, thinking.

There were men that attacked, he took them out quickly; he took most of them out within decent time. Then there was one, he had been hiding, waiting.

He was stabbed with something, passed out.

“And now I’m here,” He talks to himself as he pushes up. He is in a moving vehicle, he could hear the engine, the humming or the road. His hands were tied, that’s unsurprising. He phone is gone, also unsurprising.

“You’re alive.” Aiden turns, a small shadow at the corner of the small space, blue eyes paler than before, “ _That_ , is surprising.”

“Defalt—“

“Honestly if a group of cheap fixers hired by a blonde-headed doctor’s son with low self-esteem and a stupid name can capture you with minimal collateral damage I am baffled as to why someone hasn’t snatched up that hundred grand sooner.” Defalt’s voice is vicious, beyond the point of simple anger.

Aiden could feel his own heat rising at the growing situation, “Defalt, where are we going?”

“The fuck if I know. All I _do_ know is that he’s been planning this for a _very_ long time.”

“No _shit._ ” Aiden hisses, pausing briefly, “…This is your fault.”

Defalt’s temper flares, “ _My_ fault?”

“He’s _your_ problem. And it isn’t _my_ fault.”

“Were you not _listening_ Fox? I thought he was gone.”

“What kind of shit excuse is that?”

“Oh, and you believed robbing the Merlot would have _no_ repercussions?”

“Don’t you—“

“Don’t make me!”

There is a silence as the two men glare at one another, breaths short and fuming.

“This is getting us nowhere.” Aiden speaks, “We need to find a way out.”

“The doors are locked, there is nothing sharp and they took our phones. We’ve been driving for an hour. We are most likely out of the city.”

“Has there been any talk?”

“I can’t hear,” Defalt’s eyes dart around the space, “Atlas put us together for some stupid reason. He told me he wanted to be taken seriously.”

“Cute,” Aiden mutters, “Is he trying to prove something?”

“He’s _trying_ to be me.” Defalt scoffs, “He has confidence I’ll give him that. He’s trying to prove that we aren’t a challenge.”

“That is a mistake,” Aiden says, looking back at the van door as the humming is silenced. Soon after the doors open. The older man immediately hurls himself at the first body he sees, knocking him on the dirt. He rolls back up, ducking from the second’s thrown punch, catching his wrist upon the second blow, rope still hanging from his arm as he flips the guard over him and stomps down on his neck, scooping up his lost gun and shooting the latter through the chest.

Defalt saunters from the van, jumping down onto the dirt, hands still tied behind him as he looks at the severed bits of rope with a wicked grin, “You never told me you could untie knots like that.”

Aiden turns the younger man around, working through the knots of his rope, “You think this is the first time I’ve been tied up?” he steps back as the rope falls by the bodies of the guards, “You also didn’t have a niece that was a girl scout.”

The younger waits for some sort of stifled pause, but it doesn’t come. Aiden spoke of his dead niece sparsely, and when he did it was forced. This didn’t seem to affect him now.

He doesn’t think much of it, looking down at an earpiece in one of the guard’s ears, plucking it out, distantly hearing a voice on the other end. He speaks pleasantly, “I’m sorry but it seems guard A is a bit dead at the moment, may I take a message?”

He is surprised to hear Atlas’ voice, which is filled to the brim with admiration, “Wow, you are amazing…I thought you’d make it inside at least before you broke free.”

“You knew we would get out…” Defalt looks over, seeing Aiden has procured the earpiece from the other guard, “What the fuck is this?”

“Oh…I love your voice,” Atlas says, “Dark and gravely. It’s a beautiful voice, Jay, no wonder you let him hang around.”

“Stop _calling me that,”_ Defalt growls into the microphone, “Tell me where you are and I promise I’ll make your death less than ten minutes long.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to pretend you want to kill me horrifically anymore, it’s OK.”

“Oh I’m being very serious you little shit,” Defalt turns with Aiden toward the mansion before them.

“Well if you say so. I’m in my house.”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Aiden grumbles, but heads into the courtyard regardless, adding bitterly, “And it is still your fault.”

“Don’t test me, Fox,” Defalt hisses back, following him with quick steps, “I don’t want to be here anymore than you do. But we are here. So let’s deal with this.”

“Or I can leave.”

“Or we could both leave.”

“I doubt either of you want to do that,” Atla’s voice chimes in their earpieces, “I mean, everyone already knows about the vigilante, but no one has seen your face, Jay.”

“I swear to God if you say that name one more time—“

“You’ll do _what_ exactly?”

Defalt is silent just a moment too long.

“You didn’t kill me before, do you think I’m going to be scared? You can threaten me all you want but I know the truth!” His voice is shouting at this point, “So _find me._ I want you to.”

The speaker goes silent, the two men looking at one another.

“Do you see what I mean, Fox?”

Aiden watches him, there is a clear familiarity between the two young men; a familiarity Defalt clearly doesn’t want to bring attention to. Really, he probably will not admit the similarities exist.

“Yes. Do you still want to leave?”

“He has our identities.” He turns, heading down the driveway, “We need to kill him.”

Aiden watches him move ahead, feeling his feet tug forward without really thinking about it. He needs to be supported. No he doesn’t.

Yes he does.

They enter the mansion with no resistance. The place looks just cleaned, pristine and shining. There is an eerie silence to the place despite it being properly lived in.

“He’s in the basement.” Defalt says immediately.

“And you know this because…”

“Because I’ve been here before,” Defalt glares at Aiden’s smirking expression, “He wanted to show me his computers. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Did he show you his bedroom too,” Aiden asks without really caring to set a mocking tone.

“There,” He says, pointing to an unguarded door as he ignores Aiden’s question. He tries the knob, huffing out a curse when he finds it locked and shooting at it with his procured pistol.

Aiden gently pushes open the now broken door, “You know this is what he is asking for.”

“Since when are you the one to give advice on emotions?” Defalt growls, “You can barely control your own.”

“Do you even remember what happened before?” Aiden asks as they head down the stairs, “With the kitchen knife, and the nonsensical language?”

“That doesn’t _count._ You started that in me!”

“You’re blaming me for your mental issues too?” Aiden laughs, harshly, “Just admit that you are just as desperate as the kid you’re trying to kill now.”

Defalt stops, freezes within the underground hall, his expression livid, “Don’t you _dare_ compare me to that…that _kid._ ”

“I think I just did,” Aiden continues, “Is it really that surprising? You hate him because he’s like you. Isn’t that right?”

“He is _nothing_ like me! He…he isn’t a _fraction_ of me because you have _changed me!”_

Aiden’s face changes considerably as he watches the younger man suck in a breath and curse. He steps closer, speaking quietly, “What are you—“

Defalt hears the shot like brutal bells, could feel the force of the bullet snap at his clothes as it nips by him. He watches Aiden stumble back, his hand wrapping around the side of his stomach, red blooming against his jacket before he collapses on the floor.

The younger man stares, the whole scenario in dreadful, slow-motion off-rhythms. He feels the presence of Atlas fade in beside him like some kind of disease, a gun rests in his hand.

“Oh, I nicked you a bit…”

Defalt senses Atlas touching his side, where the bullet sliced through his shirt. He doesn’t move to stop him.

Aiden watches his paralyzed state on the floor, seeing his own blood pool on the floor. It is odd for him to see his own. He looks up, Atlas’ gun still lazily pointed at him as he gropes at the wound he created on Defalt.

Finally, he sees the younger man take his wrist, “I’m fine.” He says, “That was a terrible shot. It will take him forever to die.” His tone is blank, almost mocking.

“I wanted it to be slow,” Atlas laughs, “I thought you’d like it.”

“I’m more for efficiency, but he was pissing me off.”

“I know…I wanted to end it—You were saying nonsense.”

“Right…” Defalt glances just barely at Aiden, his hand lingering up Atlas’ arm, “Remind me what I said. I have a shit memory.”

Atlas leans closer to him, speaking gently, “He said you were like me…and you said he changed you…”

“See, I was lying, he’s nothing to me,” Defalt says with a far too familiar grin. “You’ve impressed me.”

If it isn’t for the intense pain Aiden feels from his wound he would be saying something, anything. This isn’t…right. Even for Defalt, flipping this fast…there is a secondary pain he feels, one he never usually pays attention to.

He sees Atlas raising his gun again, “I’ll kill him now…we can talk afterword—“

Defalt slides a hand over his, partly taking the gun from his hands as if from a child, “Let me do it.”

There is a brief skeptical look on the other man, holding on to Defalt’s hand, “You don’t have to—“

Defalt steps forward, kissing him briefly before taking the weapon fully from his grasp. He whispers, “Call it getting rid of something distracting.”

Atlas’ eyes are wide, the green bright, too bright.

“…Ok, Go ahead…” He laughs a little, stepping back, “Kill him.”

Defalt turns to Aiden, looking down at him for a long moment. Aiden’s vision is blurring, the pacing of time slower.

“I dreamed of this sort of situation before, fox,” Defalt says, his voice gentle, “…I realized how disgusting it is.” He turns, Aiden’s hears a shot, hears a body smacking onto the floor.

He blacks out, his consciousness returning to what seems like the same location, he vaguely sees Defalt on the phone.

Black again.

\--888—

Aiden wakes to piano notes.

Defalt has been playing it more often, since they’ve stayed together the past few weeks. The older man touches the bandages wrapped around him. Defalt was no nurse but he could certainly find one that wouldn’t talk, though his healing process is a blur he doesn’t care to recover.

He moves up, slipping a shirt over him before following the gentle notes to Defalt, sitting cross-legged on the bench, looking concentrated.

When Aiden takes a seat next to him he slowly ends the song, “….Slow dancing in a burning room.”

“…Excuse me?” Aiden asks, a hand on the younger man’s thigh.

“Slow Dancing in a Burning Room,” He says again, looking toward him, “That’s the song. Seems…reckless to do that.”

“Sounds fun,” Aiden says blankly, tapping at the keys.

He looks to the younger man, he looks tired, as if he has been sitting in the same position the whole night. He may very well have, Aiden fell into sleep very quickly the past night. He finds it so much easier now.

“Fox…” Defalt speaks again, but not looking at him, “I never explained myself the night I killed Atlas. I said that you changed me.”

Aiden doesn’t answer, but knows what comes next.

“I don’t like it.” He continues, “I suppose that is hypocritical. I beg for change in this damned city. But you have influenced me far more than I should give you credit for.”

“I should say the same about myself, I don’t like it either,” Aiden agrees, remembering what was just said. He thinks dancing in a burning room would be fun. There is some part of him that echoes anarchy, a part in Defalt’s voice. It is easy to ignore it, but he knows Defalt himself could struggle with his own crazed mind swirling with too many ideas. They know far too much about one another. They know that now, they’ve known that for a long, long while, but they have not brought it up till now.

“Perhaps that’s why I feel the need to play this song, it’s fate, Fox,” Defalt begins to play, idly, “We are slow dancing in a burning room. If we go farther we may join the ashes.”

Aiden chuckles softly, “Are you breaking up with me?”

“I hope you didn’t think this was going to last,” A small smile plays on his lips, “There are two ways to end this. I like the idea of a city wide battle to the death, tearing apart the fragments of this broken society like the Gods we are.”

Aiden is disturbed by the amusement he feels in the idea, “And the other option?”

Defalt stops playing, looking to him, “We go our separate ways, disappear, like ghosts. I myself prefer to be a God.”

“I prefer not to kill you.”

“Aw, well, it isn’t like I would the die at the end anyway.”

“Jay.” Aiden says, watching Defalt’s mouth twitch in irritation with a smirk, “I don’t want that. I’ve lost far more than I want. I don’t need to kill you.”

“I know.” Defalt says. The thought lingers in the air. Aiden half expects him to pull out a pistol. This would be the pinnacle moment for such a thing. But, he doesn’t, his fingers only continue to twitch before the piano keys. They sit in silence, stagnated, the air almost awkward if Aiden could call it that.

“Then we are done here,” Aiden decides to say, lifting himself from the bench. He’s halfway to the door when he stops. Defalt has not said a word, but some part of him wanted to wait for something. He thinks of months ago when this version of himself waiting, _longing_ for the word of this pest in his life would be the death of him. It is silly, trifling, but it gave him some sort of purpose. Now, as he leaves he will wander in the same self-preservation that guided him for so long, without him. He is fine with this. Of course.

“I never told you not to keep in touch, if that is why you’re still standing there,” Defalt speaks, continuously hitting the keys to a different song, one Aiden wouldn’t know the name of, “You should also know that you won’t have too many fixers after you now.”

Aiden half turns to him, “Why is that?”

“Oh, you know, I like to be public about who shouldn’t be crossed,” He still does not look at Aiden, “I know your dream of owning a nice bait shop in the Florida Keys with me is ruined but at least try to leave with some dignity.”

Aiden smirks, just barely, and continues forward without another word.

Defalt listens for the door to close before smacking the piano keys violently, his muscles coils as he pushes from the bench, it knocking onto the floor. He needs to focus on happy things, like shooting Atlas in the head, like his craft.

He darts across the room to his equipment, his hands gripping the edge of the table before taking his place there. He will spend sleepless nights on this.

But it will be a masterpiece.

\--888—

Aiden leans back from the scope of the sniper, adjusting the range slowly. There are only four left, moving about erratically to the sight of their dead allies. There is something ungodly funny about watching them. They deserve such panic for the things they’ve done.

He shoots two more. At this point the last are just hiding behind cover. He shifts the view again, looking up only when he hears a shot that isn’t his.

He peers out the window, then at his phone. There is only one man left. He wasn’t planning killing this one, but there is another person clearly after him.

The target in question suddenly darts out of cover, running among colorful curses in his name. Before he can think of using the panel on the ground it explodes without his aid, the target smacking into the wall before sliding down motionless.

“What the fuck…” Aiden speaks to himself, standing and taking up his sniper. A text appears on his phone. He looks down at it, brow furrowing.

_You’re Welcome ~(8: > _

Aiden barely lets out a sigh before another text appears.

_Channel 102.5_

He could only assume it as a radio station. If it is an attempt to get him to listen to music not within the borders of grungy rap and alternative rock the Rat is going to be severely disappointed with him.

He finds the nearest car and flips on the station as he drives. There is an obnoxious intro before two voices appear, a man and a woman.

“The release of mysterious artist Defalt’s new album _The Fox and the Rat_ has been met with record breaking sales in the first week.” The woman says, overly excited.

Aiden’s grip on the wheel tightens, eyes widening.

A young man continues, “Like always, the DJ has declined any interviews on the strange continuation. That doesn’t stop his fans from questioning the sudden release without any advertisement. Many are trying to decipher the “Fox”, referring to the rat as him, in his iconic mask.”

Aiden listens to the entire segment, his muscles coiled, “That fucker…” He growls, stopping in the nearest parking garage. This is what he meant. He wanted them to know, the people after him.

He lifts his phone, searching for the album. It is on the top listing. He downloads the songs with bitter curiosity. The songs line along with the few music choices he has on his phone, the names popping out to him.

_Something Tricky Searching Dependence Doubt Cognitive Translucent Atlas Falling Worthy_ Aiden listens to every single song, a horrible, disgusting amusement in him. He laughs, laughs at the silly over-the-top declaration in the sputtering of lyrics, in the pace of the rhythm that Defalt always told him to pay attention to.

Another text.

_Look up._

Aiden does so, across the garage, half in darkness, Defalt watches him within a luminescent rat mask. There is a sniper on his back, from before, and a phone in his hand.

The older man can’t see his face, but he knows he’s smiling.

In a few moments he’s over to him, hands in his pockets.

“Did you like it?” Defalt speaks, his voice seeming years old.

“Don’t talk,” Aiden says, pushing him against the concrete pillar, “You’re a little shit. You know that.” He pulls off the mask, Defalt’s grin prevalent, shining with his eyes.

“So you liked it.”

“What did I say?” Aiden whispers, kissing him without another word, without an answer.

Defalt laughs, unhinged, between breaths he got very little of.

“I knew you would miss me, Fox.”


End file.
